


The Clockwork Stranger

by HellieAce



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Demons, Gore, M/M, Mental Breakdown, References to Homophobia, Religious Conflict, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:24:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellieAce/pseuds/HellieAce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored and popular, Alfred F. Jones has almost nothing to worry about in his final year of high school. His only concern is making sure the art student, Arthur Kirkland, knows exactly who he is. But Arthur's strange drawings are more than scribbles; Alfred is about to live Arthur's darkest secret. For those who stare too long into the abyss may find it staring back at them. USUKUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clockwork Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING(s): Explicit rape, gore, and violence. Homophobia and offensive terminology. Demonology, anti-religion, sacrilege, satanic worship and demon summoning. Flaying and animal abuse/cruelty. Extreme language, drug, tobacco, and alcohol abuse. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Rolling thunderclouds darkened the coming morning as they haunted the sky. Flashes of bright, white lightning splintered the air, shattering the blackness overhead with brief bursts of illumination. Sheets of piercing cold rain poured down on the small Ohio town and the gated suburban neighborhood where Alfred F. Jones happened to live. The ferocious storms had started to make their way across the state the previous night and were now hovering over the southern end of Ohio on that early Monday morning.

A deafening boom of thunder rattled the sky, making Alfred's house shudder and startling the sleeping teenager awake. He clutched at his comforter for a second, bleary eyes nervously darting around his messy room. When another flash of lightning shone through his window, showing that there was nothing to fear, Alfred settled down and simply listened to the sound of rain pummeling his home with fat droplets. Being startled awake by loud noises was much easier to deal with when he knew what was causing them, or rather, what wasn't. Alfred could handle a thunderstorm just fine.

He blinked a few times to clear sleep from his eyes before rolling onto his side to reach for his glasses. He snatched them off the top of his nightstand and fumbled to get them on his face as his sleepy nerves groggily responded to his mind's wishes. It took him a few minutes to muster up the will to actually get out of bed though. While he did, he stared up at the stucco ceiling and the lazy twirling of his fan. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular, but he was thinking his general jumble of early morning concerns. Was he hungry? What time was it? Should he wear basketball shorts or jeans to school today? But wait; hadn't he been having a dream before the thunder had so rudely awoken him? Alfred closed his eyes again, trying to conjure up the memory of his dream again. He'd been running, but why, he couldn't remember. Had he been at one of his track meets? No, he distinctly remembered it being very dark in his dream; the track meets didn't go through the night. So why-

Suddenly, his alarm clock came to life and started blaring the most obnoxious noise to wake up its owner. Alfred growled, slamming his hand down on the off button to silence the annoying device. He glared death at the glowing red numbers alerting him of the time. Not only because of the fact that it had interrupted his thoughts, but also because it meant that he actually had to get up and get ready for school. Well, if he wanted to get there on time.

Alfred dragged himself out of bed, the comforter spilling off the mattress as the groggy teenager clumsily rose to his full height. He glanced down at the sheets bunched around his bare feet before arching to stretch. He felt the satisfying tug at his muscles and the popping in his joints as he stood on the balls of his feet, arms above his head and back curving sharply. With a loud yawn, and a satisfied roll of his broad shoulders, Alfred made his way to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom.

He leaned his broad arms on the granite countertop, staring at his sleepy expression in the mirror. A clumsy hand came up to rub at his glass-blue eyes and then run through his tangled, golden hair. He brushed out the few knots with his fingers, wincing at the stinging tug at his scalp as he brushed through his locks. Once he had successfully groomed his hair to its natural part, he moved on to washing his hands before grabbing his toothbrush and a half-empty tube of toothpaste. Alfred brushed his teeth, spit, rinsed and then wiped the excess water from his face with a towel that hung on the wall behind him.

He returned to his room, stripped off his old boxers, put on fresh ones and then moved to his spacious closet. He pushed around the clothes hanging from the top shelf until he finally concluded that he didn't really care what he looked like today; a simple pair of dark jeans and a thin cotton shirt under his favorite bomber jacket would suffice. He pulled out his choice of attire, clambering into the jeans and fussing with the seams until he finally forced them to fit properly. The shirt was much easier and his bomber jacket slid on with a natural fit that Alfred loved. He rubbed at his upper arm through the thick, worn leather. The familiar feel of it settled the teenager as the rain, thunder and lightning continued to assault the Ohio sky.

Alfred glanced at his alarm clock after a few moments of daydreaming, and sighed. He had to leave now or he would never find a good parking spot at school. Grabbing his keys, backpack and a Pop-tart from his kitchen cabinet, Alfred shouted a goodbye to his parents from the front door before exiting the house. He dashed to his car sitting in their long, circular driveway. The teenager practically dove into the driver seat and slammed the door shut before sighing. He slung his backpack into the backseat before settling into the interior of the pristine, caramel-leather seat of his sleek Mustang. The car had been a gift for obtaining his driver's license. The sleek blue car was painted with white racing stripes and was Alfred's pride and joy. Nobody ate or drank in it, the leather was cleaned weekly, and not a speck of dust could be seen across the dashboard. It was the total opposite of his room, which looked like a whirlwind tore through it on a daily basis. But cars and rooms were different. Everyone saw your car, only best friends and family members saw your room, and they didn't mind the mess most of the time.

Alfred shoved the key into the ignition, smiling contentedly as the engine roared to life with an impressive growl. The engine rumbled at he shifted into drive and sped out of his driveway, determined to make it to school before anyone dared to take his usual parking spot, hazardous road conditions be damned.

The drive was short, since Alfred lived within four miles of the school, but it felt like an eternity as slow drivers baring his way plagued Alfred. Honestly, why did the rain make people drive like idiots? The speed limit clearly said forty-five miles an hour -which meant fifty-five to Alfred- , not crawling down the one-lane street that was the only entrance to Blackwood High School.

By the time the annoyed teenager pulled into the parking lot he was quietly fuming. But what really pissed him off as he swung the car to pull into his spot was that there was someone already parked there. It was an older, tuxedo black BMW. Alfred snarled his frustration before straightening out the Mustang and driving around to the next closest available spot. As he killed the engine and grabbed his bag, Alfred felt the distinct urge to gouge his keys into the offending vehicle in his spot.

Getting out the car, he had to walk right past it, but restrained himself. He wasn't about to stand in the pouring rain to key some asshole's car. It wasn't worth ruining the leather of his jacket, and so he dashed into the school with a malicious sneer on his face. Besides, he knew exactly who the BMW belonged to, and he was going to give that person a serious warning. Nobody parked in senior varsity football, track and baseball star, Alfred F. Jones' spot. Nobody.

~TCS~

"ARTHUR FUCKIN' KIRKLAND!"

Arthur raised his head off his folded forearms, and looked up sleepily. His emerald eyes blinked in confusion for a moment before they settled on the source of the loud shout of his name. His expression switched to one of apathy as he locked eyes with Alfred's piercing blues, smoldering with rage, before dropping his head back to his arms. Sleep was far more valuable than dealing with the pompous athlete.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Kirkland!"

"What the hell do you want, Alfred? Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?" Arthur's muffled retort came after a few moments of pause, making the rest of their first period class focus their attention on the impending fight. Alfred was known for his hot temper, and had been in two fights already this year: one with a rival team at a baseball game, and another with a student who had mistaken his car for a freshman's and tagged it with red paint. Alfred had shoved the first kid, and slammed the other's head into a nearby car. Giving Arthur Kirkland - resident socially awkward art student - a good beating certainly wasn't out of the question.

"You parked in my spot, asshole," Alfred growled out, dropping his backpack beside his desk and marching over to Arthur's seat by the window. When the older student didn't respond, Alfred slammed his hands down on the desk, making it rattle from the force.

"You listening to me?"

"No," Arthur huffed, content to keep his eyes shut. As far as he was concerned, Alfred wasn't much of a threat. Sure he could bench press his own weight, was known for his temper, and loved to torment the less socially accepted, but Arthur had known Alfred since elementary school. He was far more bark than bite.

Arthur raised his head when Alfred's heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. His bleary emerald eyes blinked up at him for a moment before Arthur shrugged off the rough grip.

"Sit down, Alfred. It's not the end of the world."

"Fuck you!" Alfred growled but moved to his seat when their first period teacher entered the room and gave Alfred a stern glare. The older woman had absolutely no tolerance for the cocky jock and made that very obvious.

The blue-eyed teenager dumped himself in his desk and bowed his head, wringing his hands. Fuck Arthur! That scrawny runt didn't know whom he was messing with! Arthur usually kept to himself, so Alfred generally left him alone, but if the shorter blond was going to be an ass about taking his spot, then Alfred wasn't going to play nice anymore. However, something else bothered Alfred: the fact that Arthur had totally brushed him off as if he were nothing more than a speck of dust had infuriated the jock. Even if Arthur was going to be rude about it, he could have at least treated Alfred like an actual threat – because he was – but no. Arthur clearly didn't see just how much social hell he could put Arthur through. Even if he didn't want to have another session of out of school suspension for being in a fight, there were others ways to thoroughly crush people.

Alfred decided he would brood on it later, as the teacher had already begun her review lesson on matrices, and Alfred really needed to pay attention to this. He had ambitions of being an engineer, and paid particularly close attention in his math, physics and drafting classes. The rest was totally useless as far as he was concerned. Who needed to speak French when you could live in America building gigantic skyscrapers?

The class dragged on, as the lesson was ridiculously easy, and Alfred quickly grew bored with the simple example problems. He had finished the entire homework assignment written on the board as well by the time the bell rang to signify the end of class. Shoving the hefty calculus textbook into his backpack, Alfred prepared to head to his locker, drop off some of his books, and then head to homeroom.

Arthur shoved past him just as he stood to sling his backpack over his shoulders. The emerald-eyed man muscled past the much taller blond without so much as a glance of acknowledgment. It was as if he were simply walking down the hall, weaving through passing traffic, without really seeing anyone.

Alfred had to resist the urge to stick out his foot to trip the skinny blond that so annoyingly ignored him. It wasn't as if Arthur ignoring Alfred was new, but today, after taking his parking spot, Alfred had decided he had had enough of it. People didn't ignore Alfred, and he wasn't about to let Arthur be the black sheep in his large crowd of social acknowledgment.

He made his way to his locker with his head bowed and eyes narrowed against the rain as he darted to the other side of the school. He entered the hallway lined with lockers, found his, unlocked it, and shoved some of his textbooks into it rather roughly. After homeroom came his AP English Literature class, so he grabbed his assigned reading (King Lear, Shakespeare) and dashed back into the rain. He took the stairs to the second story of the high school two at a time. His bounding strides quickly carried him to his homeroom class, and he dramatically slid into his seat just before the tardy bell rang.

The teacher merely glanced up from his computer, mentally counted to make sure all of the students were here, entered it in his attendance book, and then went back to his work.

Alfred grinned at a student across the room from him that had chuckled at Alfred's impressive entrance. It had turned almost everyone's attention on him, if only for a brief moment: all except for one.

Arthur was staring out the window with a bored expression, his cheek cradled in his palm, never once breaking his concentration on the beads of rain pelting the glass.

Alfred felt his hands clench into fists as Arthur blatantly continued to ignore him. How had Alfred not noticed this before? The emerald-eyed teenager probably hadn't said two words to him since their brief friendship in the third grade, but it had never really occurred to Alfred until now. Maybe it was because Arthur blended so seamlessly into the background. He didn't talk to anyone, didn't bother people, never raised his hand in class and took mostly higher-level classes with the brightest students. He was on the tennis and swim team, but they weren't really anything Blackwood High bragged about. Winning state championships in football and never missing anything less then the finals at districts in baseball was what the school was known for. But Arthur didn't have either of those under his belt. He was practically invisible, and he seemed to like it that way. Yes. That had to be why Alfred hadn't been bothered until now. It had taken the bastard stealing his parking spot for Alfred to notice him. Well, he had shown some interest when Arthur had first driven to school in his older BMW with its beautiful white leather interior, but that had been interest in the car, not Arthur himself.

Arthur must have felt Alfred's eyes practically melting holes into the side of his skull because he tilted his head to glance at Alfred. The blue-eyed teenager felt a smug grin light up his face as he locked eyes with the smaller blond. Arthur made a scoffing noise before resettling his gaze back to the rain.

Alfred couldn't help the cocky feeling of victory that fluttered about in his gut. It hadn't been much, but Arthur had acknowledged his presence, seen him as maybe worth his time before recognizing his mistake and looking back out the window.

"Don't park in my spot again, got it?" Alfred said, still glaring at the side of Arthur's head.

"I'll park wherever I want to," Arthur responded curtly and dryly. "Maybe if you got to school earlier, you wouldn't have to worry about that."

"You're an ass! I always park there!"

"Not today," Arthur retorted, glancing back at Alfred again from beneath his dark gold lashes. It was an entirely bored expression, as if this were nothing more than some silly, immature game to the older blond. It pissed Alfred off, and he sent Arthur the deadliest death glare he could. Arthur didn't even look fazed.

The furious teenager was about to say something else, but the bell rang to dismiss them from homeroom, cutting Alfred off. He grabbed his backpack in a fuming huff and stormed out of the room. Arthur cocked a brow at Alfred's poor attitude, and then grabbed his own schoolbooks, before leisurely making his way to English class, which he unfortunately shared with Alfred.

English passed without any further contact between the two, though Arthur could feel Alfred's furious glare trained on him for the majority of class. It didn't bother him though. Alfred might have thought himself intimidating, but Arthur had two older brothers that could have easily put the blue-eyed teenager in the hospital without breaking a sweat. Dealing with them all his life had eliminated the fear of arrogant jocks like Alfred. Besides, Alfred wasn't the rough type. He came from a wealthy family, neatly groomed, and was as cocky as a tomcat. The most damage he could hope to inflict would probably be trying to smear Arthur's non-existent social status. The emerald-eyed student couldn't help but smirk at the thought. It was the one good thing about being almost entirely friendless and practically invisible; drama was never an issue.

The rest of the day flew by. Alfred didn't share any other classes with Arthur until the end of the day during their art class. But by then, Alfred seemed to have entirely forgotten the ordeal from that morning. He didn't look at Arthur once during the entire period, preferring to work over the drafting table near the front of the room while Arthur dug through his backpack for his Sharpie markers. Arthur grabbed a sheet of thick, white paper, and began to quickly sketch out a design he had been thinking about in biology that afternoon. The Sharpie markers glided across the paper neatly as Arthur focused entirely on the intricate design. Simple shapes, complex, weaving lines, and Arthur wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it reminded him of a goldfish somehow.

Only when he felt the presence of someone standing behind him did Arthur stop to actually sit back and observe. He didn't bother to look back at whoever was behind him, though they were standing oddly close. He could feel the slight brush of the person's shirt against his neck, and the warm heat of their body permeating the tiny space between them.

"I never knew you could draw so well," an annoyingly familiar voice chimed, sounding both slightly envious, yet very much impressed. "I mean, you've got a really weird choice in colors, but the design is cool."

It was true, Arthur really hadn't been paying attention to the color of Sharpie he picked every time he started a new portion of the design. Glancing over it, he winced as the lime green melded with scarlet and the yellows seemed to turn a sick, swampy green as they crossed over the black lines as well.

"Oh, well, I wasn't exactly going for a brilliant color theory," Arthur muttered, sliding the paper away. "But what's such a beloved jock like you complimenting me for, hmmm?" Arthur bit back sarcastically, smirking when he saw Alfred leer at him from the edge of his vision.

"I was going to ask if you knew where the protractor managed to disappear to," he growled low in his throat, still leering at Arthur. "But I guess I should have known better than asking you." He walked past, brows furrowed in annoyance.

The emerald-eyed man shook his head slowly before returning to his work. Too lazy to go find another sheet of paper, Arthur simply put one hand down on the table, grabbed a green Sharpie and began to doodle another design on the back of his hand.

He was focused so intently on the design that he startled when he felt Alfred put his hands on the back of the chair and lean over to see what Arthur was drawing. The boy clearly had no concept of personal space, as Arthur could very clearly feel the boy's body heat seeping right through their clothes, warming the older's back. The golden cross Alfred wore around his neck dangled down to brush the nape of Arthur's neck as well.

"What is that? Some sort of circle to summon the devil or something?" Alfred asked, staring down at the intricate circle Arthur had drawn. A sort of 'X' like shape was drawn through the center, surrounded by larger circles and swirling designs that interlinked the entire thing. Arthur withdrew his hand, holding it against his chest and away from Alfred's piercing blue eyes.

"No, you idiot! Demon summoning circles look nothing like that."

Alfred scoffed, straightening up to his full height. The cross on his neck glittered under the sharp fluorescent lights above them.

"I should have figured you would know about freaky stuff like that. You probably worship the devil or something, don't you?"

"No. I don't believe in your God or your ridiculous devil either," Arthur spat back, feeling his chest ache. How dare this cocky bastard imply such a thing! He may not have believed in organized religion, but Alfred had no idea what Arthur had seen or knew about, the boy didn't know what he was talking about. Arthur would never have the audacity or the suicidal notion to draw a demon-summoning circle on his hand, or anywhere public for that matter. Not after-

"Figures," Alfred shrugged, disgust lacing the single word with enough venom that made Arthur involuntarily flinch. He quickly moved away from Arthur without another word, expression set in stone-cold apathy as he moved back to the drafting table, protractor in hand.

"Idiot…." Arthur muttered before returning to the symbol on his hand.

~TCS~

When Arthur came to school the next day, being sure not to park in Alfred's spot, he was surprised by all the sudden attention he received. As he locked the doors to his BMW, he glanced up to see a couple sitting on the toolbox of a pick-up truck staring at him. One he recognized as the kicker for Blackwood's varsity football team, but the girl he didn't know. He blinked in surprise, but they quickly returned to making out, leaving Arthur to wonder just what had distracted them in the first place. He couldn't help but glance at his reflection in his side mirrors, wondering if maybe he had something on his face. But the mirror revealed nothing unusual, so Arthur shrugged it off before heading into the building.

Near the front gates of the school, where the center courtyard opened up, was the usual morning hangout for the baseball team. Only a few of them were assembled this early, but the three that stood there all turned their heads when Arthur stepped across the threshold. The emerald-eyed student felt an uncomfortable heat burn the back of his neck as they glared at him. He quickly decided that he wouldn't go to the art room this morning, as it meant he would have walk far too close to the baseball players.

Instead, he turned, and headed for his locker hallway, trying to ignore the glares practically burning through his back. He couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as the door to the locker hallway finally slammed shut behind him. Luckily, the hall was empty, sparing Arthur from any more unwelcome attention.

As he dialed the number of his combination in, he couldn't help but wonder what was warranting all of this sudden interest. As he turned the dial to the final number, he looked at the back of his hand. The Sharpie symbol hadn't entirely washed off from his shower this morning, and the insignia's faded ink made his stomach drop. Had the other students seen the design and wondered the same thing as Alfred had in art class the previous day? But why would that matter? Arthur drew these kinds of things all over his hands and arms on a daily basis -much to the dismay of his mother-, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone today.

As he pulled out his calculus book, he heard the door to the locker hallway open. Arthur glanced sidelong as one of the football players walked in. He had two of his friends trailing behind him, all three looking decidedly disgusted as they passed Arthur.

The emerald-eyed student clenched his hands into fists instinctively, dropping his calculus book in the process. It struck the tile floor with a loud bang, startling all four of them. Arthur quickly snapped out of his sudden rage, knelt, and picked up his book.

"Sorry…" He muttered subconsciously.

"Yeah, you'd better be," one of the football player's friends quipped before they moved on.

Arthur growled, shoving the book into his backpack and slamming the locker shut. What the hell was their problem anyway? Arthur hadn't done anything wrong!

He angrily stormed out of the hallway, and shoved past the baseball players without care as he made his way to the art room. He ignored their stares and their muttered cursing as he focused solely on making his way to the familiar room before anyone else got the chance to further piss him off.

The art teacher barely glanced up as Arthur entered. He was writing the day's agenda on the board in colorful chalk, but didn't bother to say anything to his favorite student. A silent greeting passed between them before Arthur moved to deposit his backpack on one of the long tables. He flopped down in a chair, folding his arms and resting his head on his makeshift pillow. The tapping of the chalk on the board was a familiar sound that soothed Arthur's already worn nerves. No one should be this upset at this hour, Arthur decided, feeling his stomach begin to knot uncomfortably from the tension.

He rummaged through his bag to pull out of his Sharpies before beginning to doodle away on his hands and arms. There was nothing better for curing anxiety than drawing, as Arthur had quickly discovered when he had first entered high school as a gawky, socially awkward freshman.

He still hadn't fully relaxed by the time the bell rang to signal the beginning of day, but he did feel a lot better than before. Hopefully the strange occurrences from earlier had just been a fluke and Arthur could have a normal rest of the day.

Unfortunately, nothing was ever that simple for Arthur Kirkland. The moment he entered his math class, heads turned to stare at him. Arthur made it a point to glare right back at them, hold his head high and marched to his seat without so much as a word to any of them. Most of the students turned their gazes away from him within a moment or two, but one gaze in particular refused to relent. Arthur glanced over at Alfred, who was toying with the cross on his neck and glaring death at Arthur.

The older cocked a brow, feigning indifference as they locked eyes. He saw Alfred flinch ever so slightly when they did, and then he wrenched his gaze away to look at the board set up with their review of the previous lesson. Arthur also noted that Alfred had been staring at the fresh designs on his hands before he had met Arthur's gaze.

Arthur couldn't help the dark suspicion forming in the back of his mind that all of this attention was linked directly to Alfred. Up until their minor skirmish yesterday, Arthur had been practically invisible to the rest of the student body. Then he gets in one confrontation with the blue-eyed jock, and all of a sudden Arthur felt as if the entire student body was planning his murder.

The tardy bell had yet to ring, and there were still plenty of students still leaning over desks and milling about, so Arthur rose as well. He made his way to Alfred's desk, standing directly behind him until the younger noticed his presence. The taller blond turned in his seat, looking at Arthur with his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What do you want?"

Arthur smirked, chuckling dangerously as he put his hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"Tell me, Alfred, do these marks make you uncomfortable?"

Alfred forced himself not to flinch as he stared at the designs across Arthur's hands and trailing up his arms. Before yesterday, Alfred had always thought Arthur's crazy swirls and circles had been extremely interesting. Now they just made his skin crawl.

"No," he lied. "You standing way too close makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh really?" Arthur leaned closer, gripping Alfred's shoulder even harder. "Are you sure?"

"Get away from me, fag!" Alfred hissed, trying not to squirm at the feeling of Arthur's hot breath so close to his ear.

Arthur scoffed, pulling away before returning to his seat. He felt a satisfied smirk tug at the corners of his lips when he caught Alfred rubbing at where Arthur's hand had been on his shoulder. It wasn't enough to fully make up for the awful glares he had received this morning, but Alfred's flushed face was enough to sate Arthur's appetite for revenge at the moment.

When the bell finally sounded to start class, Arthur quickly replaced his triumph with an aloof mask and proceeded through the rest of the day without another word to Alfred. He tried his best to ignore the stares, drew all the way up to his sleeves to distract himself, and went home with a silently burgeoning fury in his heart.

~TCS~

Arthur tossed his backpack onto the floor of his large room before flouncing onto the bed without an ounce of grace. He sighed into the black comforter, before rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. The fan above him was motionless, allowing Arthur to clearly see the swirling designs he had painted on the blades years ago. The rest of the room was similar to the fan. The walls were painted a pale green, but Arthur had taken the liberty of painting the baseboards with beautiful designs, and papers were tacked on the walls, covering almost every bare surface with symbols and circles. There were some posters, mostly of Arthur's favorite bands, but the majority of the wall space was occupied with his own creations. Even his closet door hadn't been spared. In black paint, a massive circle had been drawn over the doors, an 'X' slashed across it with various other symbols neatly painted in or around it. The circle was almost as tall and wide as the doors themselves, and was nearly a perfect mirror to the design Arthur had drawn yesterday on his hand.

Arthur smiled as he thought of what Alfred would say if he could see the apparent 'occult' images all over his room. The poor boy would probably die of sacrilegious fright. A thin laugh escaped the emerald-eyed man as he pictured Alfred's look of horror. And the stupid boy didn't even know that none of these symbols had anything to do with devil-worship or summoning. Arthur had removed all of that after his first accident.

He felt his heart ache and his the old nauseous feeling return as he thought back to the night he had brushed so close with death. A violent shudder rippled down his spine, making Arthur gasp.

He suddenly rolled back onto his stomach, leaning off the bed to rummage under the mattress. Some overwhelming impulse drew him back there, totally unexplainable, and it scared Arthur as he continued to fish under the bed. Finally, he pulled out an old shoebox, the lid duct tapped to cover the overflowing contents. Sitting up, he placed the box in his lap, and started peeling the tape away. Arthur forced himself to control his racing heartbeat before pulling the lid off.

A small black book sat on top of a stack of papers and clear plastic bags filled with dried yarrow, St. John's wort, hyssop and other plants stuffed between its pages. Arthur removed the book, setting it aside to shuffle through the papers. Most of them were covered in pictures of demonology symbols. Binding spells, summoning circles, sigils, ankhs, devil traps, contract warnings and pictures of some of the more famous beasts of Hell decorated the yellowed parchment, but Arthur set all of those aside as well. At the very bottom of the box was a folded sheet of notebook paper pinned beneath a delicate looking bone. Arthur held the bone in his hand as he unfolded the sheet. A sudden burning, itching feeling began to sear across Arthur's chest, making his skin feel like it was being burned. He dropped the note, clutching at his heart through his thin T-shirt.

His skin continued to burn until Arthur had tears in his eyes and was feverishly clawing at his shirt until he simply wrenched it off. He touched his fingers to the angry red welt that had formed over his heart. The reddish-black mark made the pale scar there stand out. It was raised, silvery in color, and in the shape of a circle with an 'X' through it, much like his closet doors. More of the scar slowly revealed itself as the mark spread across his chest, threading under the skin with black, spidery veins as it fanned out. Intricate designs carved into Arthur's skin slowly faded into existence. They were jagged marks, nothing like the flowing patterns of Arthur's drawing designs.

Arthur willed the pain away, squeezing his eyes shut, and doubled over. The wretched scent of sulfur burned in the air, and the rush of blood filled his ears, leaving him helplessly curled up on the bed. He stretched out his hand, grabbing at the black book. He managed to snatch one of the plastic bags flattened between the pages and ripped it open. Dried yellow flowers and dust spilled over the black comforter, and Arthur scrabbled to crush a handful of it in his palm.

"Go away…" he whispered, voice nearly lost to the excruciating pain burning across his chest. Clutching the yarrow, Arthur kept repeating the words like a mantra until finally the pain began to ease and the mark across his chest receded, vanishing along with the scars.

Arthur finally unclenched his fist, letting the crushed flowers spill back onto the comforter. He lay like that for a few minutes, panting, soaked in sweat, and drained of all his strength.

Finally, he closed his eyes, wiping the excess yarrow off on his jean-clad thighs and allowed himself a brief nap as respite from the sudden attack. He just hoped his mother wouldn't walk into his room, wondering why her son was half naked, covered in yarrow and in a room that smelled of sulfur.


End file.
